War Torn: The Shades of Dramione
by MissWitchx
Summary: A collection of 31 post-war Dramione-centric stories that explore the 'shades' of what the pairing is and could be in the wake of Voldemort's defeat, be they light, dark, or anything in between. Expect a lot of angst, hurt/comfort, friendship, and of course, a little bit of romance. / Rated M for some dark themes.
1. Regret: A Death Eater's Awakening

**A/N:** Welcome to my collection!

What is this collection about? As stated in the description I'm going to try and break down the 'shades' of Dramione. It's a pairing that has so many different levels that toy with the boundaries of light and darkness and I wanted to explore all the ins and outs of it, and I figured post-war is the perfect point in the timeline to let me do this realistically. Each of the stories in here will be revolving around a 'shade', and in 31 stories I probably won't cover them all, but I'll get a good amount done.

Will the stories link or can they stand alone? Both! I'm going to do my best to loosely connect each story onto the next so there's an underlying journey and development of the relationship tying every shade together, but since I'm on a pretty strict deadline for this, I apologise in advance if that all falls apart. Either way, I can safely say that every story in this collection will be able to stand-alone, so feel free to jump to any one you please if you don't want to read through the whole thing.

What can I expect? Naturally, you can expect the first couple of stories to be dark and angst-y, but rest assured I'll get delivering on the fluff and romance as we go (with the exception of the first couple of entries). There will be some mature themes scattered around, and I will post warnings accordingly.

* * *

Okay, now that's out of the way we can get on with it. This first story takes place during the war, and will therefore act as a sort of prologue if you're going to read everything continuously instead of bits here and there. Warnings for this entry for mild horror imagery / language and profanity.

* * *

 **I** : The shade of … **Regret**

* * *

 **A Death Eater's Awakening**

' _Bound at every limb by my shackles of fear,_

 _sealed with lies through so many tears.'_

 _\- Lies, Evanescence_

XXX

Another terrible scream tore from her throat. Her body convulsed violently as the cold blade ripped through her skin and coated itself with her blood; the after-effects of the Cruciatus Curse were causing her nerves to spasm beyond control.

The Death Eaters encircled her. They were all looking down, but not one of them batted an eyelid at the sight of her torture or even the symphony of misery her echoing screams created... including Draco Malfoy.

There was a time when he would have been deeply disturbed to witness such a thing, but since causing pain and terror (above that of infantile pranks and insults) had all too suddenly become part of his lifestyle, he'd become desensitised to it. It was amazing how quickly one became numb to such sounds, really… but quick as it may have been, the psychological damage it inflicted on him would not heal easily.

He felt dead inside, and watched, completely and utterly void of emotion as his cackling aunt pierced the girl's flesh with the knife again.

Feelings equated to weakness, and weak-links amongst the Death Eaters were always promptly disposed of. Draco had learnt long ago that his survival would be at the cost of his emotions and humanity, and even then it wasn't ever guaranteed he'd make it through a new day alive...

He shivered when he felt the hairs on his neck stand on end at this thought, and he immediately shook his attention back to the present. It was fruitless for him to dwell on a reality he could not escape.

Hermione lay sprawled on the floor at his feet, looking very much like a rag doll that had been dropped by a careless child. She was crying, but no longer making noise.

She was defeated.

That more than anything ought to have triggered some kind of emotional response in Draco, but even as the reverberations of her final screams buzzed in his ears, he looked at her with dead, grey eyes. And she looked back at him, that infamous fire of hers still burning strong within her brown. He saw that she may have lost the strength to outwardly fight back, but it was clear that unlike him, she was refusing to give up.

Her eyes held a peculiar expression: one that seemed to have been formed by a combination of emotions. Draco saw, on the surface, that familiar mask of burning hatred she had harboured for him since she was eleven. But hidden beneath that, lay nuances of pity, horror, and even a hint of sadness that Hermione possibly wasn't even aware of. But whether she did or not was irrelevant; the fact remained that a Mudblood who had just been tortured to within an inch of her life was feeling sorry for him.

And with that realisation, Draco felt his situation became all too real. A sudden wave of fear took its hold, causing his heart to spring into action and pound against his chest for what felt like the first time in months.

He scrunched his eyes shut as he desperately tried to squash the emotion. But it was too late; the fear had already broken from its confines, and when Draco opened his eyes once again, he felt nothing but sheer horror.

And then, without even meaning to, he shifted his gaze to stare at fresh wound on Hermione's arm. More specifically, to the trickle of bright red blood that was seeping out. From the wound, it dripped onto the mahogany floorboards, whereupon it picked up the appearance of what it _should_ have looked like to begin with: dark, brown, and mud-like.

He snapped his head away, shaking it free of the sight before tentatively looking back, having half-convinced himself he was imagining it.

He wasn't.

Mudbloods didn't exist. And here Draco was, standing in allegiance with a band of people who were determined to rid society of this very thing.

And just like that, the world as he thought he knew it shattered around him.

He began shaking. Across the room, he could see his father looking at Hermione with that familiar dead mask over his countenance.

 _He must know_ , Draco thought. He'd been a Death Eater for decades; surely he'd seen plenty of Muggleborn blood spilled in his life. _So why the fuck didn't he tell me?_

His body turned rigid, a sudden wave of anger boiling up inside him. He wanted to scream, but knowing he'd be killed on the spot, did his best to suck it back.

 _Fear._ Draco surmised. _That must be it._

From the floor, Hermione stared at her one-time peer, noticing how he was looking at his father. She saw his jaw twitch, and his eyes flicker angrily. And despite the ordeal she'd just been through, she knew what must have happened.

Malfoy had come back from the dead, to a very rude awakening indeed.

* * *

 **A/N:** Thank you _so_ much for reading. I hope you liked it - please give it a review or follow if you did; that would be incredible! If dark stuff like this isn't your thing then I hope you'll give this a chance because story 3 is where the fluff and happier stuff comes into play - promise! :)

XXX

This collection is being written for the _Harry Potter Halloween Collection Competition_ , and for this entry I used the prompt, _scream_.

Story word count: 817


	2. Compassion: Scars and Mirror Shards

**A/N:** Thank you to everyone who has followed/faved/reviewed or even just _read_ this so far; the support means a lot! You're all amazing :)

So onto entry 2. It's another dark one: I wasn't sure about it at first, but I'm happy with how it turned out. Enjoy!

Trigger warnings for (non-graphic) self-harm and profanity.

* * *

 **II** : The shade of ... **Compassion**

* * *

 **Scars and Mirror Shards**

' _Save me from the dark._

 _Been my blood to run, before I come undone. Save me from the nothing I've become.'_

 _Bring Me To Life, Evanescence_

XXX

(Glass shattered.)

The sound pierced his eardrum like the shard pierced his flesh a few moments later.

(He bled.)

The pool of red did not erase or even mask the grotesque black mark that was branded onto his skin. He was stupid to think it would, but he was desperate to get rid of it.

(He screamed.)

The Mark looked more violent and hateful than ever before now, but it was no match to how much he hated himself. He looked down, and caught a glimpse of his own reflection in the mirror shard through the smudges of blood.

He looked dead.

Most of his former classmates _were_ dead.

… _So why wasn't he?_

* * *

(She found him.)

"Get out, Granger," he snarled, shaking her off when she insisted on ignoring him and got too close.

He didn't want her touching him, or to even be near him for that matter. Not because she was a Mudblood… because he couldn't stand the overwhelming guilt that possessed him whenever he looked at her. He'd been lied to all his life, and despite everything he was still too proud to face up to the truth.

(She disarmed him.)

The shard of glass flew from his hand, and he felt the fight instantly drain out of him. He sunk to the floor, drew his knees up, and finally unleashed all the emotion he'd been holding back for so long.

"Why are you doing this to yourself, Malfoy?" she asked, tears springing into her eyes.

 _Why the fuck was_ she _crying?_

He lifted his head and met her gaze. He had dark circles under eyes that were the same steely grey she was familiar with, but haunted and lifeless inside.

"Why do _you_ care?" he growled, his voice lacking the passionate hatred it usually carried. He sounded utterly broken. "Just get out of here Granger."

"Well whether you like it or not –"

"I don't."

Hermione bristled angrily, not quite believing how obnoxious that sounded. But she took a deep breath and pressed on, knowing Malfoy was hurting badly.

"- but I'm cursed with a kind heart." Hermione said. "And the fact we have a less than amicable history isn't going to change that." When Draco gave a defeated grunt in response, she took his hands in hers and implored him; "You _need_ to stop torturing yourself like this. The war is over –"

"Is it?" His words sliced the air, and Hermione saw a fire ignite behind his eyes. "Because I can't see it ending for me anytime soon."

He turned over his left arm so the tattoo was exposed. It was still weeping droplets of blood, almost like the skull was crying. It burned on Draco's arm. The pain was awful, but the release of screaming is all he needed.

"As long as this thing is on my arm, I won't be able to move on."

Hermione stared at the tattoo. She was, for the first time Draco had seen, lost for words. She knew that he'd never get rid of it, but she also knew telling him that hurting himself wasn't going to solve anything would be a bad move too.

(She placed her fingertips on the Mark).

Draco stared at her in utter shock.

"It will fade," Hermione said soothingly, grazing the blackened skin as gently as she could. It sent a chill down her spine to be touching a Dark Mark, but she had to make him snap out of the mind-set that the tattoo was going to define him as a person for the rest of his life.

"I need it to go!" Draco yelled, as another sob broke free.

Hermione took a deep breath, and gently hiked up her left sleeve. "And I need this to go." she presented the scar that had been left by Bellatrix's dagger. "But it won't. There's no use trying to get rid of the past; all we can do to heal is look to the future. And the only way you're going to break free of what that mark represents is if you show people you can't be defined by it. It won't be easy, but you're going to have to make adjustments –"

Draco hated being told what to do, least of all by her, but he didn't have the energy to argue anymore.

"The fact that you're like this now shows you're not completely beyond hope," Hermione continued firmly. "You are _not_ all dark."

She wasn't sure he heard; Draco was hypnotically staring at her scar, the little colour in his face draining completely.

"Draco?"

Hermione looked on in confusion as he scrambled to his feet and hurried from the room without warning.

(He didn't look back).

"Well, good luck I guess," she whispered sadly. At least she tried…

* * *

Draco didn't stop walking until he was able to apparate, and travelled to the Manor as fast as he could. His knees buckled as soon as he landed, and he he sank to the floor in the same spot Hermione had been tortured a few weeks ago.

He wanted to cry so badly, but he found that curiously, he could not bring himself to shed a tear. It was very difficult to accept, but he knew Hermione was right. Her scar may not define her as a person as his Dark Mark did him, but he could tell the thing wasn't going to come off. People were not going to stop thinking of him as a Death Eater while he still had it, and that thought left Draco feeling truly humbled for the first time in his life.

He had to do everything possible to maintain a sliver of respect for his family name. And given his father's imprisonment and mother's determination to stay in hiding, it seemed that it was all on his shoulders. As usual.

(He wasn't bothered, though).

His discovery about Muggleborns made him feel like a new man, and it was time the world saw it.

* * *

 **A/N:** Thank you for reading! Let me know you thought; your feedback is always really helpful. :) The next one won't be as heavy as this - promise!

XXX

For the _Harry Potter Halloween Collection Competition_ using the prompt; _Haunted_.

Story content word count: 999


	3. Redemption: The Ruins of Diagon Alley

**A/N:** Big thank you to all my lovely readers, your support is amazing!

As promised, this one isn't as dark as the previous ones... but somewhere down the line it's probably going to get darker again. We'll see what happens.

Enjoy!

* * *

 **III** : The shade of … **Redemption**

* * *

 **The Ruins of Diagon Alley**

' _I'm still waiting for the rain to fall, pouring real life down on me.'_

 _Good Enough, Evanescence_

XXX

She hurried down the street through the downpour of heavy rain, only able to shield herself with the admittedly weak protection of a flimsy, tattered umbrella. She'd owned it for years but straight up refused to buy a new one, and she conceded that a useless umbrella was better than none at all.

Hermione huddled her arms tightly against her sides as she continued through Diagon Alley. Or rather, what used to be. Her shoes were slippery against the rain-splattered cobblestones, and as she reached the centre, she came to a halt, pivoting slowly in a circle as she took in the sight before her; a violent shiver that had nothing to do with the weather taking its hold.

Diagon Alley was totally unrecognisable from what it once was. It was dark, gloomy, and save from a handful of Ministry workers, utterly deserted. The group was huddled beneath the overhang of Florean Fortescue's shop-front, and were murmuring amongst themselves in low voices. The sound was nothing more than a low hum as it reached Hermione's ears, barely audible of the sound of hammering raindrops.

The quirky architecture, once showcasing a whimsical array of jaunty angles and leaning walls looked completely wrong now. Hermione remembered her eleven-year-old self's eyes lighting up in awe at how fun and colourful this place once looked, and it pained her to see how ruined it had become. Everything about it seemed plain eerie in a way that reminded her of the Shrieking Shack. Granted, it was a dark, miserable day, which didn't help the atmosphere of the place, but seeing it so abandoned and destroyed was enough to make tears spring to Hermione's eyes.

Diagon Alley had been her gateway to the magical world, so she knew even before coming here that it wasn't going to be easy. Harry and Ron had offered on numerous occasions to accompany her, and despite the fact Harry was brought up by Muggles too, she felt that her experience with Diagon Alley was very personal one, and preferred to do this alone.

She looked up when a rumble of thunder crashed overhead, and raindrops beat down on her face. Hermione wiped them away on the back of her hand, and turned her attention to the derelict building that she'd known as Flourish and Blotts.

This was, of course, the first shop she'd bounded into on her first visit here. Hermione smiled melancholically, remembering how she had been rendered speechless at being surrounded by so many books about a universe she'd been completely oblivious to. The sheer volume of publications and subjects had been overwhelming, and she had begged her mother to let her buy at least twelve books that weren't on her school list. But since her family was very alien to wizarding currency and the conversion rates at the time, she just had to make do with the eight she needed. (Though her dad bought her Hogwarts: A History – a book her heart was set on from the first second she saw it – as an early birthday treat).

She'd accumulated a lot more magical books over the years, and to this day they all remained some of her most prized possessions. Hermione's enthusiasm for learning about the wizarding world was unwavering, so the sight of collapsed shelves and torn and tattered books strewn all over the rubble-covered floor made her heart hurt. It angered her beyond measure that so many great wizards and witches' hard work had been abused like that. It was such an unneeded waste.

She stood there for she didn't know how long, simply staring through the broken glass of the shop front into the dark void of the interior. The change of wind was enough to wake her up, for it pulled the umbrella from her hand. Hermione whirled around to try and summon it back, but it was already inside out and too far away to see through the sheet of rain. She lowered her wand with a sigh; it was probably time to let it go anyway.

Now she was without any shelter from the elements, and she was already soaked. She stared back into the shop, having half a mind to climb through the smashed window and wait out the rain inside… and perhaps rescue one or two eroding books that were not yet beyond magical repair while she was at it. She took a step forwards, and then stopped, noticing that for some reason, rain was no longer falling on her head.

"Your love affair with books still going strong, I see, Granger."

Hermione jumped as a voice spoke from directly behind her. She spun around, instinctively raising her wand. Ever since the war she was inclined to trust nobody, and the fact this person had crept up on her was enough to trigger a spurt of panic. She felt foolish at first, until she realised who that person was. Then it felt sort of acceptable.

Draco Malfoy was standing there, holding a black umbrella over their heads. His face showed anything but amusement at her fright. His head didn't move, but his steely eyes flickered to regard her wand for a split second, before they pierced her once more.

"Is that the thanks I get for sheltering you from the rain, Granger?" His tone was icy, not that Hermione had expected any different

"What did you expect me to do when a –" Hermione bit down on her lip to prevent the phrase 'Death Eater' from escaping, "When _you_ crept up on me like that."

"You wouldn't have known who I was without turning around," he said.

"You still crept up on me."

"And?"

"And who would do that to someone who had not long been in a warzone?"

"Look, I didn't mean to offend you or panic you in any way," Draco said, his face showing next to no emotion. "I was just passing and thought I may as well say hello and be civil. But I can see my efforts were predictably wasted on you."

"Civil?" Hermione scoffed. "You've got to be joking! Last time I saw you, you were far from that - if anything I was the one who was rebuffed by you! And the time before that, you had a front-row seat to your lovely aunty Bella doing a number on me-"

Draco's jaw twitched. Hermione knew she'd hit a nerve, but supposed it was something to do with all the Daily Prophet articles that went on about him wanting to prove the war had changed him, rather than anything to do with the day at the Manor. Still, she couldn't help feeling guilty. It may be Draco Malfoy, but she knew, even as an outsider, that he couldn't entirely help the situation he'd got tangled up with during sixth year.

"Right." he said stiffly. "Have it your way; I shan't bother making small talk next time. Have a nice life Granger –"

Hermione opened her mouth to apologise - it was a pretty big deal for him to openly try and be nice to her, after all - but he turned and began walking away before she could say another word, exposing her to the rain once more. She sighed, and gave one last look into Flourish and Blotts before deciding it was probably a good idea to call it a day, lest she catch pneumonia or something.

As she walked away, she was just in enough range to overhear one of the Ministry workers call out to Draco; his shout carried vaguely through the sound of hammering rain.

"Ah, Mr Malfoy," the voice said cheerily. "Thank you so much for coming down. We just wanted to thank you in person for the splendidly generous donation you gave to the Ministry to help restore Diagon Alley."

"Keep your voice down!" Draco hissed, looking over his shoulder to see if Hermione was listening. "Just remember that I wanted that donation to be _anonymous_."

"And so it shall be!" the man said, "But we just had to meet the generous person behind it."

"It's really no trouble," Draco said stiffly. "I've got more money than I know what to do with."

Hermione rolled her eyes at that, but she stopped walking.

It wasn't long before she heard Draco's footsteps coming back towards her. She didn't want to pander to his ego, but what she'd just overheard surprised her. Could it be that the articles were true? Was he really making an effort to change?

Hermione turned around and stepped in front of him, blocking his path.

"You made a donation?"

Draco's eyebrows shot up. "Eavesdropping were you?"

Hermione sighed. "A little."

"Figures," Draco muttered, moving his umbrella over her head again. His tired eyes scanned her sopping wet hair and shivering form. "Merlin Granger, for someone who went on the run for six months, you don't prepare very well, do you?"

"Shut up." Hermione said through chattering teeth. "And for your information, I _did_ have an umbrella with me, but –"

"But it was unable to stand your company for long so it fled," Draco drawled. "Can't say I blame it."

"Excuse me?" Hermione bristled.

"Sorry," Draco sighed. It was a complete force of habit to make jibes to her, but since she hadn't ever seemed nearly as judgemental of him as the majority of his former peers, she at least deserved to not have the same treatment now. At least for today.

"So," Hermione continued, now avoiding his gaze. "Are you going to tell me about this donation?"

"Ah, suddenly feel like talking to me now you know I have the capacity to be nice?" Draco said dryly. When Hermione only gave a sheepish, guilty look in response he shook his head; he couldn't exactly blame her. "Come on Granger; let's find somewhere we can talk out of the rain."

* * *

 **A/N:** Thank you for reading, my lovelies! :)

XXX

For the _Harry Potter Halloween Collection Competition_ using the prompt; _heavy rain_

Word count: 1,646


	4. Resentment: Of Coffee and Conflict

**A/N:** Thank you to all my readers and reviewers! You guys are awesome :)

Number 4 here we go. (Warnings for profanity.)

* * *

 **IV** : The shade of … **Resentment**

* * *

 **Of Coffee and Conflict**

 _'Feels like the weight of the world, l_ _ike all my screaming has gone unheard.'_

 _\- Weight of the World, Evanescence_

XXX

"After you."

"Oh, uh, thank you," Hermione said, ducking under Draco's arm as he held open the door for her.

She stepped into the coffee shop, and was immediately hit with a burst of warmth that sent tingles through her shivering nerves. She wiggled her toes in her shoes as feeling came back to her, and she smiled, breathing in the smell of chocolate and caffeine.

"Drink?" she asked as Draco joined her at the counter.

"Allow me," he said, dropping a small pouch of money down and waving the barista over.

"Oh, no, I don't mind paying –" Hermione began.

"I'm not going to argue with your Granger," Draco drawled. "What do you want?"

Hermione rolled her eyes and began perusing the menu. Her eyes lit up instantly; it had been so long that she'd come to this place that she'd completely forgotten they served her favourite seasonal drinks all year round. "I'll have a pumpkin latte. Please."

Draco gave a small nod and turned away from her, so she decided to find a table. He joined her shortly with their drinks, and a rich odour of caffeine hit Hermione's nostrils.

"What did you order?" she asked, coughing slightly.

"Double espresso," Draco replied.

Hermione wrinkled her nose.

"Oh I'm sorry," Draco scowled, erasing the friendly smile that had just been there. "Does my taste in coffee offend the sweetheart of the wizarding world?" He surprised himself with how annoyed that single comment made him. It wasn't like Hermione was being intentionally snarky, but apparently his emotions were closer to the surface than he'd realised. It was like hatred had become part of his being ever since he'd become a Death Eater.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Hermione frowned, not understanding where this sudden attitude was coming from.

"Nothing," Draco said as he lifted his cup to his lips. The hot coffee instantly warmed his insides and sent a wave of energy up to his brain. He winced at the bitter taste but it was worth it to actually feel awake for once. He couldn't remember the last time he got a decent night's sleep.

Hermione raised her own mug too. It was way too hot to drink but she was desperate to fill the tense silence. She did her best to let Draco's comment go, in the name of being civil, but she just couldn't.

"Seriously, what did you mean by calling me the 'sweetheart of the wizarding world'?" she asked.

"Well that's what they're calling you now," Draco said. "In the _Prophet_ , that is."

"And that annoys you?"

"It's not the _name_ that annoys me, Hermione," he snapped, slamming his cup down on the table so dark liquid sloshed over the side. "What annoys me, is that you can't seem to do anything wrong. You, Potter and Weasley weren't the only ones who were part of that war, you know? And yet, you lot are showered in accolades and chocolate frog cards and all sorts of benefits. You're just so damn perfect aren't you?"

"What the hell is your problem?" Hermione exclaimed, taking in the sheer resentment that was painted all over Draco's pale face. "Are you actually _jealous_ of me?"

"Yes."

"Oh, this is rich!" Hermione had to laugh from the sheer irony of it all. "And why's that? Annoyed your family isn't at the top of the tree anymore?"

"No," Draco said through gritted teeth, trying to suppress the bubble of envy and loathing that had welled up inside him. "Because you have it so damn easy, don't you? You've _always_ had it so damn easy."

"Well you certainly did everything you could in our school days to counter-act that," she said. "Look, I know it must have been hell working under You-Know-Who but you need to let that part of your life go and move on –"

"That's what I _have_ been doing!" Draco cried. "I've arranged interviews with the Prophet, I've made hundreds of thousands of Galleons worth of donations to repair damage from the war, I've sucked back my pride and apologised to so many people over the last few months, and I'm not getting any fucking recognition for it! Don't you see? You get everything handed to you on a platter and I still can't walk down the street without someone staring or crossing the road just to get away from me."

Hermione sighed. "I'm not denying the fact you have been genuinely trying to get your life and family's reputation back on track, but you've just got to give it some time. It's going to be a while before any of us can completely move on from what happened. And hating me for something out of my control isn't going to help."

"I don't hate you," Draco sighed. "I just hate the situation;it's so fucking unfair. I wish I did hate _you_ , though. It reminds me of the life I used to have, before…" Draco's voice cracked, and he stared at the floor. "Before sixth year. It reminds me of simpler times."

"Have you ever considered that making your donations anonymous has been going against you?" Hermione said calmly.

"See, here's the problem with that," Draco said. "If I slapped my name on a huge donation for the whole world to see, that would just looked contrived, like I'm trying too hard to be noticed. People wouldn't believe it, so I can't win either way, really."

Hermione sighed; it was quite an unfortunate situation he was in.

"Draco, if there's anything I could do –"

"There isn't," he said finally, glowering into his coffee.

"If it makes you feel any better, contrary to what the media is saying, my life is far from perfect right now," Hermione said. She wasn't sure why she was saying this, but she just had a gut feeling that now was not the time to put Draco down.

"Yeah, right," he snorted, at this point wishing he had some liqueur handy to put in his coffee. "What's not perfect? You've got your friends, a family who care –"

"No, I don't," Hermione, said quietly.

"What?" Draco frowned.

"Last year, I…" Hermione bit down on her lip. "I erased my parent's memories. As far as they're concerned, their home is Australia… and they don't have a daughter."

"Bloody hell," Draco seemed genuinely surprised. "Why haven't you undone the spell yet?"

"I couldn't do it," Hermione whispered, her eyes welling up. She looked upwards and blinked, determined not to cry in front of Malfoy. "I don't know if my emotions were affecting my concentration on the spell, but… I tried and it just didn't work. The looks they gave me… they didn't recognise me at all, and just looked at me like I was crazy. I couldn't bear it. I haven't been sleeping well since; their faces keep popping into my mind..." She then pinned Draco with a hurt expression. "So please stop making those kind of judgements of people."

"Merlin, Granger, I'm sorry." Draco said. "Truly. I had no idea –"

"Exactly," Hermione said. "And because you're trying to be subtle with your donations, people have no idea that you're really making an effort."

Draco hesitated before responding. "Maybe you're right," he sighed.

"I'm always right," Hermione teased. "You're just hiding yourself away right now, and when have the Malfoys ever missed an opportunity to be noticed?"

"Never," Draco said.

Hermione smiled. "So what's stopping you now? What's the worse that could happen?"

Draco said nothing, but he had to admit, if only to himself, the woman had a point. He pondered this as the two of them finished their drinks, at which point he rose from his chair.

"Well, it's been interesting, Granger."

"That's one word for it," Hermione laughed.

"I _am_ sorry about before," Draco said. "And thanks for not hexing me or storming out for snapping at you. Can't say I would've blamed you if you did."

"It's alright," Hermione replied, still clasping to her cup to warm her hands. "If I was in your shoes I can't say I wouldn't feel like you do."

"Is that so?" Draco arched a brow. "Well, I suppose I'll see you around. Maybe we should do this again sometime."

Hermione blinked in shock as she watched him walk away. "Yeah," she said, not really believing it was Malfoy who had just said that. "Maybe."

* * *

 **A/N:** Thank you for reading. Sorry this wasn't quite up to par; I was having a bit of trouble with it and its a bit rushed. Hopefully I can make up for that in the next one :)

XXX

For the _Harry Potter Halloween Collection Competition_. Prompt; _pumpkin latte._

Word count: 1,380


	5. Pretence: Masquerade

**A/N:** Two in one night? Yes, that is how much I love you guys. Thanks again to my lovely readers.

This one is probably the most romantic one in this collection so far. I apologise for those who are reading the collection like one big story; there are some inconsistencies in here that contradict previous entries but that was necessary to allow this to be able to stand alone. I'm sure you won't mind though :)

Enjoy!

* * *

 **V** : A shade of… **Pretence**

* * *

 **Masquerade**

' _Without the mask, where will you hide?'_

 _\- Everybody's Fool, Evanescence_

XXX

She watched him from the corner of her eye as she engaged with small-talk with some senior members of the Wizengamot. They weren't people she particularly wanted to talk to, but she decided it couldn't hurt if it could potentially give her a boost towards a career at the Ministry.

He was looking at her through the eyeholes of the intricately decorated black and silver mask he was wearing, piercing grey eyes boring into her as he slowly brought the goblet to his lips.

He was toying with her, Hermione thought. She reached through her somewhat-tamed curls to adjust the straps of her own masquerade mask – white and of a delicate filigree design – continuing to hold his gaze.

The annual Masquerade Ball was doubling as a fundraiser this year, for anything and anyone that needed rehabilitation in the wake of the recent war. It was an evening supposed to invoke mystery and wonder, but she and Draco identified each other at once.

Hermione had been surprised to see him there at first, but eventually she surmised that he must have been invited here on account of his generous donations towards the renovation of Diagon Alley. After weeks of speculation about who was behind the initially-anonymous donations, Draco had made it no secret that he was the one behind it, and from that point on his face had been showing up in the media left, right, and centre. He'd been a total shadow of himself the last time she caught sight of him in the final battle, and had drastically collected himself judging from the last time she saw him a week ago, but tonight he looked calmer and prouder than ever: an entirely different person to the Malfoy who had been a Death Eater and even the obnoxious Malfoy she'd hated at school.

She was curious and intrigued about this 'new' Draco, and yet, wary of the person he once was. And as a result she had been keeping him at arm's length whenever they crossed paths, despite the many olive branches he had cast her way recently. Whilst it was true that they had become somewhat amicable over time, Hermione still couldn't help having her guard up around him.

But, strangely enough, this entire occasion of costumes and mystique gave her an extra dose of Gryffindor courage, and she found her ruby lips tilting upwards in an alluring smile as he began crossing the room towards her.

"Good evening, my lady," Draco bowed, evidently putting on a façade of having no idea who she was.

Hermione giggled. "Come on, snap out of it," she said quietly, "I know its you."

"And I know it's you," Draco assured confidently. His voice was low and purposeful, and his grey eyes traced every branch of her elegant mask before finally meeting the brown eyes they framed. "That mask doesn't do much to conceal your identity, Hermione."

She felt her breath catch in her throat when he spoke her given name. It had been a totally involuntary move, and it caught her off guard. He smirked.

"Why should I want to do such a thing?" Hermione enquired in a low voice that was far from any tone she had ever spoken to him – or to anyone with – before. It was like she had taken on a persona that was a more confident and powerful version of herself, and she wondered if this was also the cause for Draco's more mature and proud appearance tonight. Hermione had never been a fan on slathering on tonnes of make-up or dressing to impress anyone else, but on this occasion she found herself quite enjoying the 'masquerade' of it all.

Her eyes lingered on the solid frame of Draco's mask, her lips parted, before she drew a breath, finally saying, "But your mask on the other hand, does quite the opposite. I don't have anything to hide, Draco, so tell me, do you?"

"Please," Draco's voice was as smooth as honey as he intoned this word. "You've been holding back from me for ages, constantly pulling away… perhaps that mask is your way of putting a protective barrier there, so you feel more confident and empowered – able to accept inhibitions your real self shies away from. Without that mask," Draco bent a little so his and Hermione's noses were almost touching. "Where do you have to hide?"

His breath tickled her skin, and Hermione could see the colour of his eyes swirling like molten silver.

"Shut up," she breathed, this development wavering her confidence slightly. "Dance with me," she dragged Draco by the hand to the dance-floor before he could say anything else.

They held each other close as they danced to a song neither of them were really listening to. They were too lost in each other's eyes, silently standing-off against whatever point the other was trying to make. There was a twinkle in his and a hint of a smirk that all but assured Hermione he knew he was right. Hers were narrowed slightly, though fiery in a way that dared him to prove her wrong.

"So what's your excuse?" she found herself saying.

"Excuse?" Draco asked.

"About your mask. If you're so sure I'm hiding away from something, what excuse do you have?"

"Hermione, there has been only one time in my life where I've had to hold back from something," Draco said softly, though his eyes hardened slightly as the memory filled his mind. "And even then, I didn't wear a mask. I stood there, as myself, and I didn't shy away even when I wanted to most."

"Oh?" Hermione asked, now speaking as herself and not her masked alter-ego. "When was this?"

Draco gulped. "When you were being tortured by my aunt."

They stopped dancing at that point, and merely stood still, holding each other.

"And what were you shying away from?" Her voice was all but a whisper.

She felt his shoulder shrug beneath her hand. "Crying, looking away, yelling, saving you… take your pick."

She looked at him, her lips parted in disbelief. She'd known he didn't seem himself that day, but it was also true that he had not been hiding behind his Death Eater's mask at the time, and faced his demons as himself.

And it was then Hermione realised he was right about her mask too.

She didn't need it any longer.

Slowly, shakily, she reached up and lifted the mask off her eyes. He followed suit, and removed his own.

"Your move, Granger," he breathed, his heart thumping in his chest.

And so she made it. She pulled the string of her mask up and off her head, holding it in her hand as she put her other hand on Draco's neck, and she leaned upwards to press her lips against his, for the first time that night, letting herself control her actions, and not a mask.

* * *

 **A/N:** Aww finally some fluff, eh? I hope you enjoy it because I've been itching to get my teeth into some good angst again. So you can guess what direction the next entry will be going in... (but hey, what is a post-war collection without a good amount of angst?) :P

Let me know your thoughts :D

XXX

Harry Potter Halloween Collection Comp. Prompts: _mask_ and _attending a Halloween / masquerade party_.

Word count: 1151


	6. Loss: Nothing Left

**A/N:** Sorry there's been a bit of a delay with this one; I've only been back at University for three days and already I've been given _seven_ assignments and a deadline for next week. D: (So if any of you follow The System this will explain the unfortunate delay there too).

So, another angst-y one here, as I promised. (warnings: references to suicide and profanity). The next one will probably be more Hermione-centric.

Enjoy :)

* * *

 **VI** : The shade of … **Loss**

* * *

 **Nothing Left**

 _'One, two, three, one two three - drink._

 _Throw 'em back, 'til I lose count.'_

 _\- Chandelier, Sia_

XXX

 _The burial ground is a small and desolate space, where the gravestones are violently carved in such a way that they resemble jagged rocks. It certainly isn't a welcoming or peaceful place, but then again, it seems fitting for burying Azkaban's prisoners, who probably lived out their last days surrounded by the same unloving and lonely ambience._

 _Draco does his best to ignore the presence of Dementors looming around him, but the intense sorrow that suddenly overcomes in is almost too strong to bear. It's no wonder his mother preferred not to accompany him, really, but he can't help but resent her for it._

 _He stands before his father's grave wanting nothing more than to get away from the muffled sounds of screaming from the prison and waves crashing against the sharp rocks below. But at the same time, it feels like his feet are rooted to the spot, and his eyes are glued to the gravestone, which has been crudely engraved with runes._

 _By deciphering some of them, it is reiterated to Draco that Lucius had been driven insane in Azkaban, unable to cope with the misery of it all, and decided to take his own life. It was the coward's way out, considering the path he had chosen to take when he was alive. Though cowardly as he may have been, Lucius had still been Draco's father, and now he lay dead and cold beneath the earth._

 _After being told several days ago of this loss, Draco has only just found the strength to come here in person, deciding that it was pointless to delay this when he has nothing and no-one left to lose in the world._

 _He thought he was prepared, but the experience brings him nothing but pain, and anger._

 _He is angry with his father for leaving him and his mother. He is angry with the Ministry for running the prison in such a way that it drove him to end his life._

 _But most of all, he is angry with himself. After all, it is his own fault he had to come here alone today._

 _He'd thought about owling her, but he didn't - especially after what happened. He was determined to preserve what little sliver of pride he had left._

 _And this was the price._

* * *

 **One week earlier**.

He enters the pub at eight forty-five, just as he'd done every other night ever since being informed that his father was found dead in his cell. He walks up to the bar as everyone shoots nervous glances in his direction. He's used to this kind of reception, though, and pays them no mind as he drops a small pouch of money on the counter, neither knowing or caring how much was in there.

Tonight, the barman doesn't ask for his order – he already knows what Draco wants. His squinty eyes give Draco's dishevelled figure and bag-framed eyes, and he gives him a nod.

Draco hoists himself up onto a stool and idly traces patterns on the dusty wooden surface with his finger. He glances at his watch. He's been waiting for only a matter of seconds but he grows impatient quickly. Soon he begins clenching and unclenching his fists, as if not quite sure what to do with them without holding a glass or a bottle.

His eyes are unsettled. He looks around frantically, searching for something to distract him from the wait. A discarded copy of the Daily Prophet catches his eye. He feels his blood boil when he sees _that_ photograph of none other than he and Hermione Granger in the middle of a heated kiss on the front cover. It's last week's copy, but as much as he'd rather not look at the picture, it's preferable to seeing _this_ week's copy, which has the reports of his father's death on the front page.

But still, Draco can't take his eyes off the photograph, and he feels a different kind of sadness present itself.

Looking at it now, it doesn't even feel like that had been him. He could barely remember what it felt like to, well… feel something real. But it _was_ him; he was reminded on a daily basis of that. His friends had all but abandoned him once they saw evidence of his apparent scandalous betrayal of fraternising with a Mudblood. They would not listen to him, but then again, they didn't understand. None of them had been in the war the same way _he_ had. But still, it killed him inside to see them walk away from him, especially now, when he needed them most.

His father is dead.

And he is alone.

Right on cue, two bottles of Ogden's Firewhiskey are placed down in front of him. Draco smirks when the barman gives him a glass too, knowing it won't be long at all until all etiquette goes out the window and he begins drinking from the bottle.

But still, to humour himself, Draco pours himself a glass. He catches the barman's eye, and lifts his drink to him in thanks before throwing his head back and downing the contents in one.

It lights a fire in his belly, and he's suddenly overcome with a warm, fuzzy feeling all over his body. And Draco begins to relax.

 _Four more shots and the pain will start to fade_ , he thinks to himself.

But he knows it will be back by morning.

* * *

She finds him slumped over the counter an hour later, having overheard two drunken wizards speaking loudly about 'that Malfoy boy' being seen in this very pub drinking alone every night on the trot for the past several days.

Draco had stopped returning her owls. At first she thought he just wanted to be left alone in wake of his father's passing, but now she is too worried to just ignore what she heard. She'd hoped the wizards had been wrong; Draco had made too much progress to just throw everything away again.

But there he was, completely inebriated and… lonely.

She hurries over to him and tries to lift him from his seat. "Why on earth are you doing this to yourself?" she asks. "You should have come to me –"

"Well I didn't wanna!" Draco slurs. He lifts his head up and looks at her with unfocused eyes as he sways unsteadily in his seat.

"Please," Hermione says. "Just come back to my flat with me; you can sleep on the sofa. Nobody should have to go through this alone."

"I'm not goin' anywhere with you," Draco replies. His brow furrows into a scowl.

Even in his drunken state, he feels a tingle of happiness spread through him upon seeing Hermione. Her presence in his life had made a world of difference to his confidence and general wellbeing, but it had also cost him his friends. And his mind keeps changing on whether this was worth it.

At the moment, it doesn't feel like it.

She misunderstands what he means, and takes the bottle from his hands. He grasps for it like a baby might for his milk. "Yes you are," she says finally. "You've had more than enough of that."

"No, Hermione." Draco responds, now feeling angry enough to sober up slightly. "Leave me alone. I'm not going anywhere with you."

Hermione has already seen similar behaviour from Ron after Fred died, and refuses to back down, knowing she was doing the right thing. "No, that won't do you any good. The last thing you want is to be alone right now - trust me."

"I said, leave." Draco snaps, eyes blazing as he stares at the abandoned copy of Daily Prophet once more. Hermione doesn't see the hurt that accompanies his expression, due to the glassy look the alcohol has given them, but she follows his gaze, and sighs.

"I can't just leave you when I know you're grieving for -"

"Well I don't need you," Draco snaps. "I need my real friends; they knew my father almost as well as I. But they left me didn't they? Because of _you_."

"Fine," she snaps back, realising there is more than one reason why he had stopped replying to her owls. "You want me to leave? Just remember I'm the only person who has helped you through everything since the war. You're so upset about your friends dropping you about this stupid picture, and where were they when you needed them before? Nowhere. But _I_ was, so just think carefully about what you're saying, Draco, and who your _real_ friends actually are."

"Dammit, Hermione just leave me the hell alone!" he yells, grabbing the Firewhiskey back from her.

"Fine." She looks in disgust at the way he clings to the bottle. "I'll leave you to it then. But before I do, let me just remind you of the fact that you were kissing me too, so if you're trying to blame me for your losses, you might want to look in a mirror first." She turns to leave. She feels incredibly guilty about abandoning a grieving man, but it's apparent that Draco doesn't want her there.

"Oh just fuck off!" Draco snarls at her, plugging his fingers in his ears until he's sure she is gone.

He pulls them out too soon, and hears the 'pop' of apparition outside.

And only then does he wake up, and realises that now, he is well and truly alone.

His grip tightens around the neck of the bottle as a sudden urge to cry wells up inside him. He just tells himself it's an effect from the alcohol, and lifts the bottle to his lips.

But he thinks better of it, and puts in down on the bar with a sigh, suddenly not feeling in the mood anymore.

He stumbles as he gets up, and turns to leave, but not before picking up the Daily Prophet, and tucking it under his arm as he staggers out into the night.

* * *

 **A/N:** As always, thank you very much for reading, and thank you all for the lovely feedback so far :)

XXX

Written for the _Harry Potter Halloween Collection_. Prompts: _Azkaban Burial Grounds_ ; _Dementors._

Word count: 1660


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